


When Thunder Roars

by choomchoom



Series: Into the Light [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, M/M, giant robots fighting other giant robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choomchoom/pseuds/choomchoom
Summary: He’d promised Rewind. Even if he was going to break that promise, he could at least pretend that he didn’t want to.Set in the same AU as Into the Light, in which Rodimus is framed for murder and Drift tries to break him out of prison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CDRW companion story to Into the Light! Title is from Imagine Dragons' 'Walking the Wire'.

“…attacked by another prisoner. I can’t say for sure, but I suspect it was a faction thing.”

“Is he going to be okay?” All of Chromedome’s limbs had turned to water at Ratchet’s first words, _Rewind is hurt._ He didn’t think that Ratchet’s voice would be quite so calm, quite so even, if Rewind _wouldn’t_ be okay, but he couldn’t be sure. Ratchet had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. Maybe a calm, even voice was how one best introduced conjunxes to grief.

“He’s going to be fine. Just a little banged up,” Ratchet assured him. It wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been.

“Can I speak to him?”

“He’s asleep right now, but I can have him comm you before he’s released from the Medibay. He’ll be okay. I’m only calling you because it’s protocol.”

Chromedome’s comm chimed with another incoming message. It drew him out of the conversation with Ratchet and the dark spiral it had led to in his head, and back into his barren quarters in Kimia. Back to the real world. “Please have him comm me. I’m getting another call, but thank you so much for helping him.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Ratchet replied. Chromedome didn’t see a need to respond to that, so he hung up and opened the incoming comm.

The number was unfamiliar. “Hello?” he answered, trying to mask his irritation at the caller for interrupting his conversation with Ratchet. For Ratchet having to call him in the first place. For Rewind being in prison over those stupid arena videos. For the world at large.

“Is this Chromedome?” The voice was familiar, but Chromedome couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes. Who is this?” Chromedome’s plating began to crawl. Something was wrong here. That Rewind—Rewind of all people—had been hurt in a _faction scuffle_ when he’d managed to avoid them pretty well during the actual war, and this stranger calling him now? Maybe someone who hadn’t spent millennia working with Prowl wouldn’t have this sinking feeling that the two events were related, but, well. Chromedome had.

“Drift.” The response was oddly curt, for a cold call from someone he’d talked to so rarely that he didn’t even recognize their voice. Feeling sick, Chromedome realized the call was coming from inside the prison. Someone who’d almost definitely had contact with Prowl.

Chromedome wanted to scream, or maybe throw the comm device across the room. This was Prowl. He had no doubts. He knew Prowl too well. _Of course he would figure out a way to circumvent the no-contact order._ He vented harshly before gathering himself enough to respond. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Just to meet. Visiting hours tomorrow.” He didn’t have to tell Chromedome that he was in prison. Everyone knew about Drift’s postwar breakdown that had culminated in him shooting up the marketplace and demanding, of all things, money.

“Why?”

“I just want to talk.”

Chromedome considered hanging up. This conversation had Prowl’s fingers all over it. Behind every word of Drift’s was a whisper of Prowl’s, saying _you can’t escape this,_ saying _I will send people after you until the end of time._ With Rewind hurt and vulnerable in the prison Medibay, Chromedome felt powerless against it.

So he played his part. “About what?”

“Take a guess.” Drift, to his credit, didn’t sound like he was trying to be sly about it. More like resigned. Maybe distracted. Like this wasn’t the most important thing on his agenda today. It was irritating.

Chromedome cut to the chase. “Prowl got to you.”

“What he wants is for the good of the Autobot cause.”

Chromedome shuttered his optics, wishing that he could do more to vanish, to disappear from this planet entirely. He’d resisted this. He’d thought he’d won, when Prowl had been imprisoned over it. He’d decided, then, that he wouldn’t be playing any more of Prowl’s games. He’d chosen that, when he’d walked out of Prowl’s office after the first time this conversation had happened. He’d chosen to free himself from the tangle of intricate schemes and lies that he’d never been able to break away from before.

But maybe that just wasn’t a possibility. Involving the rest of High Command, trying to leave the damn planet—none of it had worked. And now Prowl had shown his hand: he was willing to hurt Rewind to get to Chromedome. And there was only one place that road could lead: Chromedome doing exactly what Prowl wanted. They both knew that. They’d both known for millennia.

“Tell him I’ll do it.” Chromedome hung up. Now the only reason he didn’t throw the comm across the room was the promise of Rewind’s call.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in silence. He turned the conversation and those preceding it over in his mind, reconciling with himself what he’d just agreed to. It was for the Autobot cause, even if he hadn’t been able to see why back when all of this had started. And Chromedome couldn’t help but feel a thrill of eagerness at the thought of the operation itself, of scouring the brain of one of the war’s most notorious agents for its secrets—but he pushed that thought away. He’d promised Rewind. Even if he was going to break that promise, he could at least pretend that he didn’t want to.

The sky outside the room’s small window was dark when the comm rang again. Chromedome recognized the number as Ratchet. Even though he’d been expecting this, his first instinct was to panic: what if something had gone wrong? What if this was Ratchet calling to let Chromedome know that Rewind had died?

“Hello?” He couldn’t quite keep his voice even as he answered. He could feel his hand shaking on the device.

“Hey, Domey.” The rush of relief at hearing Rewind’s voice left Chromedome feeling lightheaded.

“Hey. Ratchet told me what happened. How are you?”

“Little sore, but nothing serious. What did Ratchet _say_? Even I’m not totally sure what happened. Arcee and this random ‘con started fighting, and I just got swept up into it. I thought it was Arcee that knocked me out, but that can’t be right.”

Chromedome was reasonably sure that it was. “Are you going to listen this time if I tell you to be more careful?” he asked, voice light and teasing.

That got a laugh out of Rewind, and Chromedome smiled to hear it. “Never.”

They chatted for a while longer. By the time they said their goodbyes, Chromedome had made himself a new promise. Rather than try to extricate himself from Prowl’s schemes, Chromedome would do anything to keep Rewind—and what was between him and Rewind—safe.


	2. Chapter 2

Rewind stayed seated with his back to the wall while Rodimus and Drift talked. After Drift left, Rodimus peered down the hallway for another moment before pivoting and walking back across the cell. He sat back down next to Rewind, facing the bars and the limited view they offered of the world beyond them.

“What do you think happened?” Rewind asked. Drift’s rushed conversation with Rodimus had broken the spell that had kept them both silent before. Now there was no denying that the screams and carnage they had heard from the other side of the cell block had been real. There was no denying that they had seen Overlord walk right past their cell, sparing neither of them a glance. No denying the chance that he might come back.

Rewind hoped that Rodimus would have a good answer. Hoped that Rodimus would be able to offer something other than the answer that had Rewind’s spark spasming. The answer that would also explain why Chromedome had seemed so exhausted and distracted during his last visit. Rewind had assumed that dealing with the world outside the prison alone had been getting to him. He was ready to kick himself for not looking deeper.

“No clue,” Rodimus said, disappointingly. “Prowl approached me, way back, about taking Overlord on the Lost Light, but—”

“What? _Why?”_ Rewind realized, belatedly, that he’d sprung to his feet. His vents were panicked, uneven, as he stared at Rodimus, desperate for any answer other than the one he knew in his spark was coming.

Rodimus’s optics widened and his jaw dropped a little, as if he’d just then realized what he’d let slip. It was answer enough.

Just then, the lights in the cell winked out, followed shortly after by the bars. The cells were illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of the emergency lights in the hallway. Neither Rodimus nor Rewind had time to comment before a cheer went up among some of the prisoners. Prisoners streamed out of their cells, crowding the hallway. Right outside Rewind’s cell, someone was practically bowled over by a second mech who had been bolting down the hallway. They landed in a tangle of limbs, yelling and throwing punches. Rewind took his attention off of those two only to see similar chaos everywhere.

“On second thought,” Rodimus was saying. “Maybe the tunnel isn’t such a bad—”

Rewind didn’t wait for him to finish. He dashed out of the cell in the direction Drift had gone. Rewind had to find Chromedome _now,_ and opening up the hole in their floor would be time-consuming and risky.

Unrelatedly, he didn’t love the idea of having to look Rodimus in the eye at the moment.

Rewind stuck close to the walls, skirting fights and the quickly-forming, faction-divided mobs as best he could. The crush of mechs became less pressing as he neared the end of the cell block, where he knew Drift’s cell was. Rewind didn’t know the exact number, but the displaced energon infuser next to one of the berths in one cell was clue enough. He hopped over a corpse that lay half in the hallway and half in the cell, moved the already-askew tile away from the tunnel underneath, and dropped inside.

Which way? Right now, Rewind just had to get out of the cell block to somewhere he’d have more freedom of movement. He picked a direction at random and started running. He had to duck his head to be able to fit under the mess of tubes above him. Eventually, he reached a hole in the floor. He skidded to a stop so that he wouldn’t fall right through. Peering down, he saw that the hole opened into the workshop. Better than nothing.

He dropped into the workshop, landing on the floor at a stumbling run. He didn’t stop until he reached the door that led to the hallway outside.

Rewind turned the handle, and the door didn’t open. He banged on it once in frustration, and then controlled himself, remembering that it would be really, really bad if the guards found him here, out of his cell. They could start asking questions about the escape. Rewind wouldn’t do that to Drift. Or to Rodimus, even after what he’d just found out.

Rewind went to try the other door, without much enthusiasm. If they locked one, they probably locked the other.

He jiggled the knob. Nothing. He tried again, more out of frustration than any real hope that it would work. He was startled to feel it turn. Someone was opening the door from the outside.

Rewind leapt away from the door like it was on fire. It could be a guard, and he could have just blown Drift’s whole plan—

The door opened the rest of the way, and Rewind found himself face to face with Brainstorm.

He stared. “What are you doing here?”

“I could say the same,” Brainstorm said. “I’m looking for a place to hide, as I believe most mechs would do in a situation like this one. _You_ seem to be doing the opposite.”

It only occurred to Rewind then to wonder what Brainstorm was even _doing_ here. “Is Chromedome here?” Rewind asked, figuring that Brainstorm had to be tied up in this whole scheme and would know.

Brainstorm jerked, but then seemed to realize that Rewind had already figured it all out and nothing was left on the line. “He’s still in the cell,” Brainstorm said. “I managed to change the access codes with him in there, but we can’t get Overlord back in until he’s out. So I figured my job’s done—you know me, useless on the front lines.” Brainstorm shrugged, palms open towards Rewind.

Rewind glared. “Take me to him. Now!”

For a second, Brainstorm looked like he wanted to argue. Then his optics narrowed and he sighed. He turned and walked down the hall, motioning for Rewind to follow.

The hallway was long, curved, and in shadows from the low emergency lighting. It was also destroyed. There were chunks torn out of the walls and ceiling, but Overlord hadn’t seemed to encountered anyone when he’d come this way. The lack of bodies on the ground evidenced that.

Brainstorm led Rewind along, explaining the mechanics of the slow cell in rapid-fire technobabble. When they were almost to the far stairs, Brainstorm pulled up short. He opened his comm. His optics widened.

“Change of plans. Apparently Overlord’s going to be cornered back into the slow cell from outside. I have to rotate the cell, uh, how to paraphrase this? Yesterday.”

Brainstorm looked up from his comm and over at Rewind. He closed the comm and pulled out an access card, the same style that Rewind had seen the guards carrying. “Ready to see the outside world again?”

Rewind was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goes with chapter 8 of Into the Light.

If their anger was a distraction, their hunger for violence was even more so. In the moment of contact, when Devastator landed a punch or reeled from a blow, he could think clearly. That was the only time he broke from the fog of discord, each limb united behind his real goal.

In the long seconds between, when he was heady with the fight and consumed by the neverending scream that came with being this unnatural composite person, he forgot what the goal even was.

Overlord tackled Devastator, sword in hand. Devastator’s head cracked against the hard desert ground, and there was one of those too-brief moments of clarity.

— _get him back towards the ship, back towards the cell, but carefully, so he doesn’t figure out that that’s what you’re doing—_

Parts of him resisted. Most parts, really. They didn’t want the battle to be over. But the thought was enough to get Devastator to kick Overlord in the midsection with both legs, his own upper body braced against the ground, as the scream took over again.

They fought, Devastator doing his best to keep Overlord interested as they inched their way across the plain. He angled them towards the other side of the prison ship, where the goal was. Some of Devastator recoiled at the sight, at the sign that the end of the battle was within reach, that Devastator may soon not be necessary. It took all of the conviction of Devastator’s head to silence them, to push on.

Overlord didn’t seem to have noticed the direction that their fight was taking. He was too focused on besting Devastator. Which, all parts of Devastator agreed, he could not be allowed to do. Devastator harnessed that moment of absolute agreement and used it to throw a vicious uppercut into Overlord’s neck. The force of it shoved a piece of Overlord’s impenetrable plating off to the side and Devastator’s hand hit sensitive cabling.

Overlord howled in rage and dove forward, sword-first, aiming to tackle Devastator again. But he was angry now—too angry, where Devastator could still, in most moments, cling to a semblance of calm. Devastator easily sidestepped the blow. He grabbed Overlord’s leg, yanking it up and quadrupling the force with which Overlord hit the ground.

The doors to the cell—which one part of Devastator recognized and therefore all parts of him did—were open. They were only a few steps away from it.

The move that Devastator visualized as he kicked out at Overlord, more for the moment of clarity than anything else, would end the fight, which was disappointing. But it would be a feat of strength fun enough to make ending the battle worth it.

Devastator had never done anything like this before. Perhaps this new head was a good fit after all. He found himself cracking a smile, for the first time all day, as he lifted Overlord by the shoulders and swung him like a javelin in one circle, two, and then released him at the precise angle that would have him land inside the cell.

He did, with a crash that part of Devastator worried would break the cell, and that the rest of him hoped might do the same, might cause the fight to continue. But the cell stayed whole, and the little mech next to it—Autobot—Chromedome— _whoever_ —pushed a button on the cell’s control mechanism, and the doors started to close.

But then— _no_. In the cell, Overlord stirred. And Devastator realized that he’d made a crucial mistake.

Between the anger and the thirst for battle and the all-consuming job of managing the disparate parts of himself, Devastator hadn’t noticed that Overlord was still holding the sword.

Devastator was frozen as Overlord lunged forward, using the sword to catch the doors before they could close fully. His competing desires to stop Overlord and to let him get out so that the fight could continue paralyzed him, threatened to split him apart.

There were two mech standing at the side of the cell. Both of them were familiar. As Devastator stood, unable to move, the smaller of the two, Rewind, ran forward. He scampered up a ramp and into Overlord’s cell. The hilt of the sword was facing inward. Rewind pulled the sword from where it was keeping the doors open and they started to close again.

Something about the event broke the hold that indecision had had over Devastator. He lunged forward, brushing the other mech out of his way as he did.

Devastator used his other hand to jam the closing doors. He could barely fit a fist in, but he did. He used it to force the doors back open. Devastator swept the pesky sword out onto the ground behind him. Using one foot to hold the doors open, he punched Overlord as hard as he could in the face, targeting his working optic and hopefully blinding him. He grabbed Rewind out of Overlord’s now-lax hand. Overlord had already torn off one of his arms, but Devastator didn’t have time to worry about that. He towed Rewind outside and let the cell doors slam shut behind him.

Then, absent a purpose, Devastator felt a rumbling in the earth, or perhaps from within. He felt like his limbs were stretching, leaving him—leaving him cold. Alone.

Absent a purpose, Devastator shattered into his component parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a ~monster~ to write and edit. hope you enjoyed it! next up we have chromedome's POV on these events and the aftermath and then...another five chapters of aftermath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goes with chapter 8 of Into the Light.

Chromedome burst out of the slow cell anticipating chaos. Instead, the desert stretched around him, still and silent.

What was _happening_? The lack of activity around him was nearly intolerable. But the thundering crash that came next, from around the side of the massive ship, was far from a relief.

“He’s out!” Rewind’s voice rang out from nearby.

Why was Rewind outside? _Why wasn’t Rewind somewhere safe_?

Chromedome oriented towards the familiar voice. Rewind and Brainstorm were running towards him from a corner where the slow cell met the outside of the ship. The look in Rewind’s visor…Chromedome couldn’t focus on dissecting that right now.

“What’s going on?” he asked Brainstorm, who looked appropriately freaked out.

“He tore through the ship, and Bee had Ratchet let him out through the Medibay and had me turn the cell so that it opened outwards. Which was difficult, mind! It wasn’t supposed to be able to do that! But I did it.”

“Brainstorm! Focus!” Chromedome let some frustration into his voice.

Brainstorm held his hands up, briefcase still dangling from one wrist. “I don’t know what the grand plan is! Just doing what I was told!”

There was another crash from the other side of the ship, and in the distance Chromedome saw Overlord’s body hit the ground hard, skidding until he managed to regain his footing. In the time that took, Devastator stepped out from behind the ship.

Chromedome divided his attention between the fight that was unfolding, and Rewind, who stood a few paces away from him. Devastator seemed to be winning, spending more time hitting Overlord than vice versa. Rewind wasn’t looking at Chromedome. His expression was unreadable. Devastator’s assault kept Overlord fighting back as Devastator steered the fight back towards the slow cell. Why was Rewind standing so far away?

“I humbly put forth the recommendation that we get out of the way,” Brainstorm said, gesturing with the briefcase back towards the corner that he and Rewind had hidden in before.

Chromedome shook his head. “Someone needs to be next to the control panel to lock him in,” he said. He looked at Rewind. The fight was getting closer and closer. “Go. This is my mess, and I’ll handle it.”

Rewind shook his head and stepped closer to Chromedome. “No. I’m not leaving you out here.”

Chromedome struggled to reconcile that with the look of abject betrayal he’d noted on Rewind’s face earlier. “Aren’t you mad?”

“I’m beyond mad. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this. And I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

The ground rocked under their feet again. Devastator had tackled Overlord, and the fight continued to inch its way closer. Brainstorm thrust a datapad into Chromedome’s hands, muttered something that may or may not have been “I’m too smart to die.” and fled back underneath the ship. Chromedome didn’t blame him.

The datapad contained updated codes for the cell. Chromedome stepped up to the control panel on the cell and keyed in the new version of the _blasted_ code that had started all this mess to open the door. The cell slid open, exposing the red interior.

“Please go hide,” he said to Rewind as Devastator herded Overlord closer still.

“ _Don’t_ tell me what to do right now,” Rewind said. He crossed his arms, leaning away from Chromedome.

They waited in silence as the fight got closer and closer, until the ground was shaking with it continually. When they were close, Devastator made a cutting motion with one hand, smashing it into the side of Overlord’s neck. He didn’t break through the indestructible plating, but he exposed some of the lines in his neck anyway, disorienting Overlord. Chromedome and Rewind watched in silence as Devastator picked up Overlord’s gigantic frame and threw him more than twice his own length into the cell.

Somehow, it worked. Chromedome smashed down on the button that would set the doors closing.

The doors started to inch closed. For a second, Overlord didn’t stir. _Thank Primus_. Whatever had happened within the ship, whatever consequences were still to come, it was over. Overlord was contained.

Then Overlord moved. He uncoiled around the sword that he held and jammed it into the floor, stopping the doors from closing. The handle of the sword was far inside the cell, and Overlord released it as he rose to his feet.

Devastator was still. Maybe this situation was too much for his reportedly tiny brain. But Rewind moved.

“Rewind! What are you doing?” Chromedome found himself running towards the cell, chasing his conjunx.

“Ending this!” Rewind shouted, even as he climbed over the sword to the inside of the cell, where Overlord was still rising, preparing to make a move.

Before Chromedome could get in a word of protest, Rewind heaved the sword out of the floor. The doors resumed closing. Chromedome ran forward, not sure what he could even do about this situation, but knowing that he needed to be there.

He felt Devastator’s hand hit the side of his body like a truck. The last thing he saw, before he was tossed across the plain by the force of Devastator’s hand, was Rewind’s frame in Overlord’s grasp.

\--

Chromedome woke up in a Medibay.

For what his chronometer said was a few minutes, but could have been seconds or hours for how they felt, he didn’t move. He was alive. He’d survived. How dare he, when Rewind—

He couldn’t finish the thought.

“Chromedome.”

The sound of his name caused him to reflexively online his optics. Ratchet was looking down at him, face grave. Chromedome didn’t speak, knowing what was coming.

“How are you feeling?” Ratchet asked, instead of delivering the news.

Unable to come up with an appropriate response, Chromedome laughed. It was a bitter sound.

But Ratchet waited, unmoving, as Chromedome gathered himself enough for a proper response. “Just great.”

Ratchet nodded, seeming to accept that. “Rewind is in surgery,” he said then, slow and careful.

Chromedome lurched up on the berth, ignoring how lightheaded the motion made him feel. “He’s alive?”

Ratchet nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face. “He’s alive, but he’s not in good shape. I’m sorry I don’t have any better news for you right now.”

Chromedome nodded, his frame going numb again. The rush of hope and its subsequent qualification had left him feeling even emptier than before. He hadn’t realized that that was possible.

“You need to rest. I promise I’ll wake you with any updates,” Ratchet said, looking Chromedome in the optics one last time before turning to check on Drift, who was unconscious in the next berth over.

Chromedome lay back and shuttered his optics, willing the time to pass faster. Or perhaps for his frame to disappear from time entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place concurrently with Chapter 9 of Into the Light.

“It’s good to see you.”

Rewind didn’t react to Chromedome’s words, keeping his face neutral as he struggled to figure out what his honest reaction would even be. Certainly not agreement—seeing Chromedome brought with it relief, yes, but also a wave of rage that shocked Rewind with its intensity. And behind that was something like resignation: he knew, now, how lost Chromedome was. How far he would let himself be pulled for the allure of mnemosurgery.

 _I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for this_. It was still true, still just as true as when he’d said it in the horrifying mess of the previous week. What Chromedome had done went beyond forgiveness. Painful as it was, Rewind wasn’t sure how he could ever Chromedome again. Not when he knew that Chromedome had it in him to make a decision like those that had led to Overlord’s attack on the prison ship.

“You said you had an explanation,” Rewind said, sitting down across from Chromedome in the visiting room. Chromedome’s hands were clenched together under the table between them. Rewind placed his own hands on the table, palms down.

“I do,” Chromedome said. He lowered his voice. “Prowl approached me again after you were in that fight. In prison. Before Overlord.”

Rewind was confused for a split second, and then it clicked. “You thought that was him?” Then, “I thought he wasn’t allowed to contact you.” 

“He used a proxy. And I know it was him,” Chromedome said, sounding more certain than he had this whole conversation. So ready to defend himself, to justify what he’d done. “You mentioned _Arcee_ , Rewind. Everyone knows she’s Prowl’s puppet. But I figured it out before that.”

“How?” Rewind asked, that somehow trumping the pile of other questions he wanted to ask.

“Prowl’s proxy,” Chromedome said. “Prowl had been leaning on him, and I had no idea what Prowl had on him. Or how many people he could have pestering me. I just knew that he wasn’t going to stop, and that he could keep hurting you—”

Rewind suddenly felt cold. “This was about me?”

Chromedome didn’t seem to know the correct answer. “He could have had you killed,” he said eventually, in a near-whisper.

Rewind leapt out of his seat then, unable to sit still with the rage hammering through his lines. “ _I would rather have died!_ ” A guard blew a whistle at him for the outburst, and Rewind fought to control himself. He sat back down, hands shaking. He couldn’t think of what else to say. Chromedome looked distraught, maybe, finally, ashamed. It wasn’t a comfort. “I would rather have died than be the reason Overlord killed all those people.”

“I’m sorry,” Chromedome said, hushed. “I just wanted you safe.”

“Like I said before,” Rewind said. “I can’t forgive you.” Chromedome’s expression crumpled at that, his optics turning down and away. Part of Rewind wanted to take it back, wanted to tell Chromedome that there was nothing he could do to push Rewind away from him forever.

But another part of Rewind was still dashing through the cell block, stepping over the bodies of dead and dismembered Autobots. Still stepping into Overlord’s cell, having made up his mind that trapping Overlord back inside was worth dying for. Still in Overlord’s grip and scared, again, of death.

He decided on a middle ground between those two parts of him. “Not now.”

Chromedome’s relief was palpable, but not all-encompassing. He was still wary, still afraid of what Rewind might stay next. What stipulations or ultimatums he might give.

But Rewind didn’t say anything else. He waited.

“Not now?” Chromedome echoed after an aching minute of silence.

“Not yet.”

Chromedome lifted one hand to his face, elbow on the table, as though he needed the support to prop himself up. He looked unsteady, like Rewind’s next words could shatter him completely. “What do you need from me?” he asked.

Rewind didn’t know how to answer. He’d been afraid of this question, because he knew that no matter what demands he made, Chromedome would try to fulfill them. He might not succeed, but he would try. Having so much power over another person was uncomfortable. It was too much responsibility.

“I don’t know,” he answered finally, and honestly. “I don’t know.”

\--

“What do you want me to say, that I’m sorry?” Drift asked. “I am. I did it because I thought it was the only way, and yeah, if I’d known that people would get hurt, that he’d kill Pipes—yeah, I would’ve reconsidered.”

Rewind tuned out Drift’s voice, head curled away from him and Rodimus, trying for all the world to convince them that he was asleep. He had decided on that course when Drift had first appeared. He hadn’t felt up to talking about the escape plans, and since this had turned out to be a personal conversation rather than a strategizing one, it would only be more awkward if he gave up the game now.

Rodimus never responded, and soon, Drift left. Rodimus moved the infuser back to its proper place once Drift was gone, dropping it back to the ground harder than usual.

Hard enough that it would be reasonable for the noise to wake Rewind, who hadn’t been able to really recharge all night anyway. He rolled over in the berth, onlining his optics.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Rodimus said, not sounding apologetic. Not sounding like much of anything at all, really, especially compared to his usual spark-on-his-sleeve animation.

“That’s okay,” Rewind said. “What happened?”

“Drift was here.” Rodimus didn’t seem willing to elaborate.

Silence sat heavy in the cell. That was new, between the two of them. They were more likely to try to talk over each other than find themselves with stretching quiet moments like this one.

Rodimus ended up speaking first, his words slow and hushed. “I’m sorry that I ever even considered letting Overlord on the Lost Light. It wasn’t a good plan, but it was _Prowl_.” He stopped.

It seemed like Rodimus, for once, was at a loss for words. “I think there’s a lot of regret going around right about now,” Rewind said.

“Maybe. And I know that no amount of regret is going to matter, that no amount of regret is going to change the past.” Rodimus lay back down on his own berth, shuttering his optics. “We’re all just going to have to learn to live with it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place concurrently with Chapter 9 of Into the Light. Posted at the same time as Chapter 5; if you're reading as I update, make sure you read that one first!

“Did you want this to happen?”

Prowl could hear the anguish in Chromedome’s voice. Millennia of companionship had attuned him so precisely to Chromedome’s moods. But he didn’t feel for him. Instead, the words ignited a rush of anger.

He wasn’t sure why Chromedome had asked for this call, which Prowl was carrying out from one of the public comms that were on the track for prisoners to use in exchange for Shanix. But whatever it was Chromedome wanted, Prowl was fairly certain he didn’t want to give it to him.

“You know what I wanted,” Prowl said, trying to keep his voice low and hopefully threatening. “Did you get it?” he asked, a tiny spark of genuine curiosity alighting in him at the thought of the answer. His life had been turned on its head, he was still in prison, but perhaps two good things could come of this. The first, of course, was that he’d been proven right. Bombshell’s experiments on him were clearly an act of war. It made all of Prowl’s preparations for the Decepticons’ eventual attack seem like the logical responses to the situation that Prowl had always known they were. Four million years of war didn’t just stop once someone said it was time. Megatron would return and things would go back to exactly as they had been before; they had to prepare. Prowl didn’t think that it would ever end, but he had lost the ability to look that far into the future just to speculate. The only way he could imagine himself surviving past the next few nights was to strategize.

So he’d been proven right. That was one positive outcome. And maybe:

“Yeah. I figured it out.” Chromedome didn’t sound happy about it, which, with everything else that had happened, was understandable.

“And?”

Chromedome explained the serum that Megatron had used on Overlord as if he were an amateur police officer giving a report to his supervisor. Prowl prodded him for specifics a few times, his processor whirring with possibilities.

“So it’s Shockwave that we really need to get the information from,” Prowl said. “He invented the process. He knows the formula.”

“Yeah, but even that wouldn’t allow the Autobots to construct an army of them, or whatever it is you want,” Chromedome said. “And—wait. You want _more_? This isn’t _over_ for you? After everything?”

“Why in Primus’s domain would it be over?” Prowl hissed into the comm.

“After what they did to you—”

“Only makes me more sure that they’re going to do it again. And again and again, until—it will never be over, Chromedome.” Prowl was snarling now, but he reined himself in. Best to keep this discussion civil. “Surely you understand that by now.”

“We continue to disagree,” Chromedome said, surprisingly cordial for all the aggression that had been in his voice at the start. “I think that the war’s over, and everyone but you knows it. And I think that you can’t function unless you’re making your plots and pretending that you need to sacrifice mechs’ lives. All for a war that isn’t happening.”

“For Bombshell, the war isn’t over.”

“What I heard had nothing to do with Autobots or Decepticons. It was _wrong_ , and evil, but his goal was to make the perfect combiner. I could pass judgement on that, sure—like I said, evil—but it wasn’t war.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Prowl said. He waited for Chromedome’s infuriating, cutting reply, and then realized that he’d already jammed the comm back onto its receiver.

He considered calling back, restarting this conversation on a more civil note, but decided after a moment that there would be no point. It would go just like that one, just like all the conversations between the two of them since that damned heist over four million years ago.

Chromedome had gotten Prowl his answer. And yes, it had been at great cost. But it wasn’t _enough_. The information would only help them if they paired it with more. Chromedome would need a cool-down period of at least a few years before Prowl would be able to convince him to do something that went against his twisted personal moral code again, and the rest of his resources—mechs he could lean on with blackmail, mechs who he knew well enough to make them do something for him and make it seem like it was on their terms, mechs who trusted him to highly that they would do things they didn’t want to do simply because he asked—were rapidly drying up. He’d been excommunicated from High Command, two of his agents were missing in action, and he wasn’t permitted to leave this blasted prison ship.

Except, apparently, when kidnapped by Decepticons.

Everything clicked into place in a few seconds as Prowl continued to stare at the silent comm device that hung on the wall. Prowl’s first priority, in times when there wasn’t an overarching plan that trumped it, was to keep himself safe. It was perhaps dishonorable, but it was the fact of things. Prowl’s life—and, for that matter, his mind—was the most important resource he had access to right now. Prowl’s mind, the loss of which inside Devastator he still shivered at when he was trying to recharge.

 Prowl couldn’t keep himself safe on the ship. He couldn’t keep himself safe on Cybertron.

But one of his remaining resources, one of the few mechs he could still rely on because he _knew_ he needed Prowl, had a way of getting away from the ship. Away from Cybertron.

Prowl spent a few more seconds mulling over the thought, ensuring that it was the most logical course. It became more and more clear that this was the _only_ logical course. He would leave the ship on the Lost Light—after applying his own mind to Drift’s plan, to make sure that it would actually work—and work on reassembling the tatters of his preparations and his resources from the relative safety of deep space.

Prowl pivoted and walked towards the corner of the stands where Drift sat, brooding. Best to start now. The subtle comfort of having a course to follow, a plan to execute, was enough to banish the lingering darkness that had haunted him ever since Bombshell and his soldiers had kidnapped Prowl from his recharge berth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place around chapter 10/11 of Into the Light.

Chromedome leaned on the edge of one lab bench, observing quietly as Brainstorm tinkered with something. Chromedome held a glass of engex, and Brainstorm had one next to him, just past the ever-present briefcase.

“Whose fault do you think it all was?” Chromedome found himself asking, unable to come with any other topic to talk about when in his mind all he could do was obsess over the conversations he’d had with Rewind and Prowl about the events of the previous week. He’d hardly seen Brainstorm since, between the modifications Brainstorm had been making on the slow cell after the incident and having to testify about the attack to High Command. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d ended up locking him up over it all, but Bumblebee and even the Neutrals had seemed oddly eager to cast all the blame on Prowl.

Prowl, ironically, seemed to agree. He hadn’t accused Chromedome of facilitating the attack, for all his spitting anger in their conversation. Chromedome had been hoping to leave that call with some sense of resolution, but he hadn’t. Prowl was the same as ever. Chromedome supposed that he was too, and that one of them would have to change for a conversation between them to ever go differently.

“I don’t think you want that question answered, so much as there’s a particular answer you want to hear,” Brainstorm replied, not looking up.

“That it wasn’t my fault, you mean,” Chromedome said, taking a long sip of engex after.

Now Brainstorm’s gaze left the mess of circuitry on the bench to meet Chromedome’s optics. “No,” he said. “That it was.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re feeling guilty, but you’re not sure why, and you want somebody to tell you what you did wrong.”

“And why would I want that?”

Brainstorm took a drink, but didn’t look up. “There are two things that could come from you feeling guilty about this. The first is that somebody tells you that you messed up, you admit it, you promise not to do it again, and it’s over.”

Brainstorm paused, and Chromedome couldn’t help but interrupt him. “I did mess up,” he tried.

Brainstorm shook his head. “He overpowered you. None of us knew— _nobody_ knew—that that could happen. Anyway, if there’s no one to tell you what you want to hear, you’re down to one way to deal with the guilt, and that’s to address the source of what was wrong in the first place. And that’s much harder than the first thing.”

Brainstorm plugged a cable into the briefcase on the bench next to him and started punching numbers into a datapad attached to it.

“What is it you’re working on, anyway?” Chromedome asked, grasping for a distraction from the previous conversation.

“You’ll find out when it’s done.”

\--

 _Address the source of what was wrong in the first place_.

After getting kicked out of Brainstorm’s lab for being ‘distracting’, Chromedome found himself walking through the cobbled-together city, then past its limits toward the empty plain where the prison ship had used to sit.

He wasn’t sure what kind of absolution he might find out there, but he knew for sure that there was no one in New Iacon that he wanted to be around. And the thought of spending the evening in the cramped Kimia quarters that he and Rewind had shared for so long was similarly abhorrent. So he walked.

Rewind blamed Chromedome not for letting Overlord turn the tables and invade Chromedome’s head, but for agreeing to do the procedure in the first place. Prowl took his agreement as a given and was disappointed that after all the lives lost, he hadn’t found more information. The government was content to blame Prowl for the disaster, even though it was Chromedome who had actually _been there_ , who should have seen what was coming, and stopped it. Somehow.

And then there was Brainstorm. And it was a testament to how out of options Chromedome felt that he’d tried to go to Brainstorm for a feelings conversation at all, but Brainstorm’s uncharacteristically cryptic responses weren’t much help either.

 _The source of what was wrong_.

What did that even _mean_? What was wrong? That Prowl couldn’t let the war just stay over, that he was willing to hurt Rewind to get what he wanted? Acutely, Chromedome realized that blaming Prowl was exactly what had Rewind so angry at him.

What a mess. Maybe the source of the problem was that Overlord existed in the first place. Maybe it was that _Chromedome_ existed in the first place, and he should just—

He cut the thought off with savage force. Not productive. Rewind wouldn’t be happier without him, and if Chromedome talked to him now, even when he was so mad, he knew that Rewind would say the same. They’d been over it enough times in the past. But maybe now, after Rewind had said _I don’t know if I can ever forgive you_ …

Maybe suicide could go on the list of possible solutions. Not at the top, obviously, but it wasn’t like he’d come up with anything better—

_Not. Productive._

Fact: he’d never believed in Prowl’s cause. He didn’t think that the Autobots needed any information from Overlord’s mind.

Fact: he had agreed to do the procedure anyway. When Prowl had crossed the line of hurting Rewind. Like Prowl had known he would.

Fact: the thing Rewind was mad about wasn’t Overlord’s escape. It was that Chromedome had done the predictable thing, had let Prowl manipulate him.

Maybe that was the source of the problem that Brainstorm had been talking about? But it wasn’t like knowing that gave him any ideas for how to _fix_ anything, and taking emotion-related advice from Brainstorm was probably inadvisable in the first—

He felt his foot nudge something that had been half-buried in the ground. He stooped down for a closer look at it, finally jerked out of his thoughts. He’d been pacing the outline of the prison ship that was still imprinted in the ground. He must have strayed just a little further outside the indentation’s limits. He stooped to pluck the object out of the ground.

It was a data disk, tiny, black, like the ones Rewind kept in his wrists for when he wanted to share information. Definitely one of Rewind’s, Chromedome realized as he looked closer. He’d never seen any others like them.

Chromedome wondered how it had ended up here as he tucked it away. He would have to ask.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concurrent with Chapter 12 of Into the Light; contains spoilers.

Rewind leaned against the wall beneath the comm’s holder so that he could keep an eye on the entirety of the track. He wasn’t sure how to name the mess of emotions that had settled in him when he’d first heard Chromedome’s voice over the line, so he decided to ignore them for now.

“I know what I did wrong,” Chromedome was saying. “I let myself pretend that Prowl had made a decision for me, when in reality, I made a decision too. He used you to manipulate me, and because that happened I tried to blame you for it.” There was a pause, a harsh vent from Chromedome, as if he had more to say. “I get that now. But I don’t know how to be better.”

Rewind’s response was practically automatic. He’d been thinking about what he might say at this juncture, what he might say to a host of possibilities that Chromedome might have come up with, for days. “I can help you with that,” Rewind said. “As long as I know you’re trying.”

The connection was too weak for Rewind to be able to tell for sure, but he thought that he heard the distinctive sound of Chromedome smiling. “I found a data disk, near where the ship used to be,” Chromedome said next. The change of subject was a relief. There was a lot left to sort through, but it was probably better done face to face, when they were both safe. “Did you—”

“It’s mine,” Rewind said. His spark clenched at the reminder of the day he’d ejected it through the closing cell doors, the day that he’d really thought he was going to die. “We can watch it when we’re back together.”

They said their goodbyes, which took longer than it probably had any right to. Rewind hung up the comm with a peace and warmth in his spark that was a welcome relief from the anger and anxiety that had hung over him since the attack. Chromedome had done some real thinking, had figured out how to take a reasonable amount of responsibility instead of wallowing in misdirected guilt. There was still work to do. But they were at a place that Rewind thought they could move forward from, no longer as lost as he’d felt right after the attack.

And in good time. He had a meeting to get to.

He located Drift’s distinctive sword in the crowd and set off towards him. He saw Drift talking to an unfamiliar minibot, and off to the side, Prowl stood with his arms crossed. Rewind wondered why he was hovering like that. They’d probably need to move away from him.

But when Rewind got there, Drift didn’t make to move. Aside from Prowl, they were in a pretty sheltered corner. “Thanks for coming, everyone,” he said. “So far, everything’s on track for tomorrow—”

“Wait. Tell me that he isn’t coming,” Rewind said, pointing an accusatory finger at Prowl.

Drfit looked uncomfortable and didn’t respond. That was answer enough.

“No. No way. After what you did? No. You know that Pipes was supposed to be coming with us, right? Wanna tell me why he can’t?”

“Not your call,” was all Prowl said, which just made Rewind see red. Just because Chromedome struggled to take responsibility didn’t mean that Prowl wasn’t the reason that the whole mess had happened in the first place.

“All you’ve ever done is mess with people’s lives for the sake of your schemes,” Rewind said. “And yeah, even I can admit that some of them did some good for the Autobots.”

“Thank you.”

Rewind hadn’t even meant to give him that opening. “But the war is over, and a couple of successes don’t mean that you can continue to use people as playthings. Just because you don’t understand happiness doesn’t mean that—”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Drift interrupted, cutting Rewind off. Rewind huffed, but didn’t continue his rant. Drift was the one facilitating all this, and probably the one mech that Rewind would have allowed to cut him off in that moment.

Rewind listened through the explanation of the plan, noting the relevant aspects to pass on to Rodimus. He let his mind wander a little, though, and wondered whether he should warn Chromedome that Prowl would be tagging along.

By the time Drift dismissed them, he’d decided that he wouldn’t. Chromedome should be focusing on his own part—helping Ultra Magnus get the Lost Light off the ground and flying one of its shuttles to the prison ship’s airlock—not worrying about what he’d find once it was done.

Besides, the Lost Light was supposed to be a big ship. Maybe the two of them could just avoid Prowl forever.

\--

“You first,” Rodimus said, gesturing at the hole in the floor that would lead to the rendezvous with Drift and the others.

“You sure? You’re the whole reason that this is happening.”

“And you’re smaller and faster. _Go_. I’ll be right behind you.”

Rewind shrugged and lowered himself into the hole. He set off in the correct direction with Rodimus—who, on reflection, had possibly insisted that Rewind go first because he’d forgotten the way—crawling close behind him.

They met up with everyone else in the workshops, and Rewind did his best to ignore Prowl’s presence. It would hopefully be good practice for a future where communication with Prowl was unnecessary.

They made it up to the top floor, within sight of the airlock, before being stopped by Bumblebee. For a few seconds before Ratchet appeared, Rewind really thought that it was over. That he wouldn’t get a chance to start over, to keep searching, to do anything but sit in prison on this miserable planet that was technically his home. Then Ratchet shot Bumblebee, and talked the guards down with an aplomb that made Rewind pine for his camera, and suddenly, the way to the airlock was clear.

The shuttle was already hovering above the transparent panels, blocking some of the night sky. Rewind angled the smooth sheet of metal that Whirl had handed him towards one of the hallway lights, making it flash in a pattern that would be visible from the shuttle. The shuttle’s pilot appeared to notice and the shuttle started to dock almost immediately.

“They’re docking!” Rewind reported. It was nearly a minute before the airlock doors hissed open and Chromedome’s face became visible from the shuttle’s interior. He rolled down a thin metal ladder from the shuttle.

Without stopping to think, Rewind scampered up it. Chromedome reached out a hand when he neared the top and half-pulled him up the rest of the way, drawing him into a hug just as his feet hit the shuttle floor.

Rewind flung his arms around Chromedome, shuttering his optics and doing his best to not let himself think. There would be a lot ahead of them—Dominus’s absence continued to haunt everything from Cybertron to the furthest reaches of space, Chromedome kept breaking his promise to give up injecting, and they would still have to deal with the matter of being on a ship with Prowl for an indefinite period of time. But what counted now was that they were together. They would face all of it together.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also concurrent with Chapter 12 of Into the Light; contains spoilers.

Prowl waited at the bottom of the ladder into the shuttle, uneasy. There were too many variables here. Too much could go wrong. Most of the crew had gotten into the shuttle already, but Prowl’s processor wouldn’t stop spinning scenarios where they got captured and all their plans were for nothing.

Predictably, the door at one end of the hallway burst open and guards with guns started pouring out. Prowl felt prideful, for a moment, for not having allowed himself to hope.

Drift stepped down from the ladder and went for Ratchet’s gun. Ratchet slapped a palm down on it. The two of them looked for all the world like they were about to start an argument, as if this weren’t a life or death situation.

Prowl could get himself to safety while Ratchet and Drift argued. He could say something that would make Ratchet leave Drift behind—he could have, his processor amended, before Overlord. Now, the chances that that would work were far from certain.

One thing he was sure of: if he offered to take the gun and cover their retreat, he would be permitted to. The Lost Light would leave Cybertron on its fool’s mission and Prowl would remain trapped here, vulnerable.

Prowl would remain here, on his planet, which he’d spent so long fighting for.

Since some undefinable point early in the war, a black cloud that had shrouded his personal future. It was vulnerable to strategy; he could predict the likelihood of whether or not he would die in a given scenario. He could plan a mission that would last months, even years. But outside the parameters of that mission, survival seemed impossible. It was a common side effect of war, and he’d learned to live with it.

But now, all of a sudden, that cloud lifted, and Prowl saw the two potential paths ahead of him. The Lost Light, space and its myriad dangers, relative freedom. Cybertron, imprisonment, hostility from the neutrals, the Decepticons, and those Autobots who thought that diplomacy was the answer to all their problems. He’d been brought low enough that neither path was going to be significantly better for the Autobot cause. There were too many decisions to be made, too much that was unpredictable in both futures for him to make a judgement.

His allies were on Cybertron. His enemies were on Cybertron. Space would be safer.

For the first time in recent memory, he made a decision that wasn’t based on statistics and tactical considerations. He just decided. He decided that he didn’t want safety more than he wanted to be as effective as he could be for his fellow Autobots. He didn’t want the chance that the Lost Light might give him to rebuild his network as much as he wanted to find strategies that might work better than his old ones. They could debate about whether or not the war was over, but it was undeniable that Cybertron had changed. In that moment, Prowl thought that maybe he would be able to change with it.

“Leave me.”

Ratchet looked appropriately surprised to hear Prowl’s interruption, but he surrendered the blaster, as Prowl had known he would. Prowl laid down a row of cover fire as Ratchet and Drift scrambled up the ladder.

After forcing the guards to take cover, Prowl risked one glance upwards and was rewarded with the sight of Chromedome pulling the ladder back up into the shuttle. Chromedome met Prowl’s optics for the second that he dared look away from the guards down the hallway. Prowl wasn’t sure if he wanted Chromedome to believe that Prowl had done this for him. A part of Prowl wanted Chromedome to believe that he hadn’t, because that was true. But another part wanted the opposite, because it was always nice to be owed.

After the airlock closed again and the shuttle lifted off to rendezvous with the Lost Light, Prowl dropped the blaster, letting it skid until it was out of arms reach. Then he knelt, palms in the air, and faced the still-armed guards. As he was tackled and forced into handcuffs, he thought about the future again. His future. It remained uncertain, wont to be influenced by more variables than his processor could predict, but he could see it. Uncertain as it was, painful as it had the potential to be, he could see it. And he had chosen it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!


End file.
